Battle of the Bowl
by notawordsmith
Summary: Leo is in the fight of his life, and is uncertain of success.  Can he win?  If not him then who?  Leo's POV.  My first Stealthy Stories Challange -One Shot-


**A/N: A Stealthy Story Challange from the brilliant mind of saiyura. Have a read of her stories after you've finished mine, you won't be disappointed. Rant, rave review, all the good stuff. A little bit of lovin' is good for the soul ... and stories ;oP**

**Two words: Sick Turtles XD**

* * *

**Battle of the bowl**

_This is it._ I thought to myself as I placed the kettle onto the hob to boil. I never thought this day would come, the day where all my trials and training would be put to the ultimate test. I was nervous. The fate of our entire family rested heavily on my shoulders; clothing me in a cumbersome armour of responsibility. I bore the weight easily. Master Splinter had trained me well.

The familar surroundings of the lair's kitchen held no comfort for me today, as I trained my mind to empty, and concentrated on my deep, rhythmic breathing . It would take all I had to pass this test, a test that would push my family to it's breaking point if I failed. Was I ready? The spiders of doubt scuttled into my mind, but I brushed them away easily. I had to be. It was time.

"Leo!" A petulant wail floated on the breeze from the loungeroom. "Where's my chicken soup? I'm hungry. And tell Raph to stop hogging all the tissues, I need some toooooooo."

I pinched the papery skin between my tired, weary eyes, and slumped against the kitchen counter. Mike and Raph _both_ had the flu.

Together. At the same time.

The urgent whistle of the kettle brought me out of my desperate fog._ Who had infected who?_ No one knew. But that was only the first of many unanswered battles, all referreed by me.

I sighed deeply and removed the kettle from the hob, silently wishing I could stop Mike and Raph's insistant requests so easily. I added the water to the instant soup mix already in the cup; confident Mike could find no fault in _that_ aspect of my cooking skills, and swirled the mixture around.

Placing little white marshmallows into Raph hot chocolate, making sure there were no pink ones; as on the spirits of my ancestors honour,_ that _had already caused me enough headaches today, I steeled myself and walked onto the battlefield.

There they were. Two opposing forces on either side of the nowhere near-long-enough couch.

Mikey's side was a sea of chaos and confusion; scattered pencils, torn scrunched up paper, long forgotten comic books and an Ipod headphone set that seemed to be in a desperate battle for surpremacy with the cords of the playstation controller.

Raph's side was the same, although his chaos and confusion wasn't spilt onto the pristine blanket tucked up under his chin. His was all inside, arms crossed, eyes glowering, jaw set so firmly in an air of indignant rage that I wondered if he was going to break it.

My jaw was set too, but in the locked rigor mortis of servitute.

"There you go Mikey." I said as I placed the steaming mug of instant chicken noodle soup into his eagerly awaitng hands. Expecting gratitude, I frowned as much as Mikey did as he suspiciously eyed the cup. Like I had just handed him one of Donny's experiments and it was fizzing.

"You did remember to put a bit of milk in first didn't you bro?" he chided gently. "It makes it taste creamier."

It took every ounce of strength I had not to lecture him for his thoughtlessness. But if I had done that, there would be no higher recourse for Raph as he whistled like I was a taxi and demanded to know where his cocoa was, and if it had the requisite amount of white marshmallows.

I assured him it had, and I handed it to him.

Waves upon waves of tiredness and frustration washed over me as I fetched food, doled out medications, soothed ruffled feathers, and in one case, extracated heavens knows what from heavens knows where because of something Mikey said to Raph.

They were bored, I was exhausted, and the room was filled with the heavy gas of tension.

Just waiting for the spark.

Then it happened. Raph was sick. Head hung over the bowl, his body convulsed hard as he purged the once sweet hot chocolate.

This seemed to amuse Mikey to no end. An idea formed in his mind and glinted upon his eyes.

My eyes widen in horror as I realised that Mike was bored, unable to do as he pleased, and was looking for something to do, or someone to annoy.

I heard a smug little ditty escape from his lips as he sipped his soup.

"Anything you can puke, I can puke better. I can puke anything better than you."

Raph's head snapped up in a cloud of rage. Too sick to do anything, he rested his head back over the bowl and snarled, "No you can't."

"Yes I can."

"MIikey! You cut it out you dimwitted jerk! You can't."

"Yes I can."

"For the love of Pete and all his sodding angels Mikey, I swear on the blood of our ancestors if you don't stop singing ..."

Mikey drowned out the rest of Raph's tirade with an earsplitting falsetto, "Yes I can!"

He seemed pleased to have finally won, over his bigger brother, and my mind whirred as to how to throw myself on top this grenade, to keep family harmony. I needn't of worried. Karma knocked on Mike's door.

His face paled. His skin grew clammy. With a rush and a flurry, Mike set down the steaming soup, reached for his own bucket and was violently ill.

I met Raph's smug smile with my own as we listened to Mike's cacophony of retches, punctuated with his pitiful pleas to kill him, or make it stop. It seemed to go on forever.

"Y'know Leo? I really think Mikey can puke better than me." I heard Raph chuckle darkly as he laid his head back onto the armrest. His face smoothed and a deep, relaxing breath escaped from his lips.

"I feel better already."


End file.
